"No. Has he had any conversation with you yet, Bates?"
"No, Miss Ocky; nothing special."
"He probably will, though. It struck me, Bates, that you might inadvertently mention our little talk of the other day if I didn't warn you. I don't think that would be advisable."
"Nor do I, Miss Ocky! I was only afraid you might let it out yourself!"
"It would be a pity to put notions in his head," continued Miss Ocky calmly. "I must say, Mr. Creighton seems to be unusually sensible, but you can never tell which way a detective will jump."
"They're worse'n cats!" agreed the old butler.
XVIII: Some Old Men Are Out
There was a tinkle of silver and china suggestive of the butler picking up a tray and preparing to depart, so Creighton fled from the vicinage as softly as the furry felines to which Bates had spitefully compared him. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. Utterly shameless, he reminded himself that if listeners hear no good of themselves, they also occasionally hear much that is valuable. So Bates and Miss Ocky were in conspiracy to conceal from him some conversation they had had! Um. It would be funny if he couldn't pry the truth out of one of them; mentally, he girded up his loins for the fray.
The immediate effect of what he had overheard was an alteration in his plans for the balance of the afternoon. He wanted to see Judge Taylor for more than one reason, but his brief essay in eavesdropping had served to remind him of a chore neglected nearer home. The servants. He must question them, painstakingly and at length, on the chance that one or more of them might have heard or noticed something that would bring him a step closer to the truth.